


The Risen King and the Fell Reincarnation

by americaninja



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Risen King Chrom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americaninja/pseuds/americaninja
Summary: Chrom strikes the final blow, but Grima still manages to rise.





	The Risen King and the Fell Reincarnation

**Author's Note:**

> In this, Grima is somewhat based on his Fire Emblem Heroes depiction, while Risen King Chrom is based off an actual Fire Emblem Cipher card. [Check it.](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/fireemblem/images/d/d8/FE0_Chrom_Artwork2.png/revision/latest?cb=20170330172124)

They buried him next to his father.

The servants turned the last shovel of earth onto the grave and pressed it down before filing back into the castle. The last living Shepherds, still stunned by the death of their leader, quietly said their respects before dispersing.

Lissa and Lucina were not there. They could not bear to be near the grave of their brother, their father.

Robin was not there either. He could not bear to be near the man who had been his best friend, his beloved.

Grima was asleep, but Chrom was dead.

\--

It had been a month since the final battle. Robin was in his home, writing a book of tactics by candlelight and trying to distract himself from the lingering memories of war and death.

A searing pain tore through his skull. He gasped and fell from his chair, clutching his head. The pain was building to a fever pitch; it felt like it was going to rend him in two. A scream boiled in his throat, but he choked it back, not wanting to wake Morgan. Barely audible over the ringing in his ears was a familiar voice.

 **“FOOLISH YOU WERE, TO THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE ME. I** ** _AM_** **YOU. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN?** **HAVE YOU TRULY FORGOTTEN YOUR BIRTHRIGHT, WHAT YOU WERE BORN AND BRED TO DO? FORGET NO LONGER.”** Grima laughed, a sound like bone scraping on metal.

Robin, pressing his head to his knees and clawing at his hair, fought desperately to push the voice from his mind—he’d done it once before, surely he could do it again.

Or so he thought.

He couldn’t keep his mouth closed any longer. A shriek ripped itself free as the pain consumed him entirely, and Grima’s laughter drowned out all other thoughts.

The last thing he saw before he died was Morgan standing in the doorway, crying with fear.

\--

When he sat up, he had only a fuzzy memory of the pain he had felt. He stretched his arms out and saw claw-like nails on his fingers. His sleeves slid down his arms, revealing intricate purple markings that spiraled from the backs of his hands and covered his forearms. The room was normal, save for the overturned chair. He pulled himself to his feet and absently touched his face, only to feel something like… eyes? He dusted off an old dagger from a nearby table. Reflected at him was the face of a man with two new pairs of fire-red eyes, a bloody scar running down each cheek to touch his lips. He smiled, revealing a mouth of jagged teeth.

As he smiled, he had a realization, but his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. A young girl, wearing a coat similar to his own, was in the doorway. “Oh, Father, I’m so glad you’re alright! I was so worried. I thought you… I thought you had died!” Tears welled in her eyes.

_Father…?_

No. He was no father.

 **“I think, my dear, you are mistaken.”** A voice that scraped the air like bone on metal echoed through room. The girl shrank back in fear. **“I’m afraid your father is gone now. I am the wings of despair. I am the breath of ruin. I am the Fell Dragon Grima!”** He laughed with manic glee and rage.

She had the good sense to run before the house was ripped to shreds.

\--

Dark clouds spread across the land. Where the clouds went, destructive storms followed. The Fell Dragon, hidden within the gloom, drifted across the skies, slowly gathering strength. Meanwhile, its human form walked the earth, taking in the sights, making plans.

He came to the castle of the exalt. He was then struck with an idea.

 **“Let’s see how much power I have,”** he murmured to himself as he flung the gigantic doors open as if he were swatting a fly. He strode swiftly down the main hall. Servants and soldiers gasped and fled as he passed. He let them go; they would die in due time.

He opened the doors to the gardens. In the very back of the field was the royal cemetery. He passed by the rulers of old; some lay in grand mausoleums or under statues, while others under simple markers. He found the headstone he was looking for. It read:

CHROM OF YLISSE

EXALT, BROTHER, HUSBAND, FATHER

Grima stared down at the grave. Thin grass and a couple dandelions had grown over the mound. He smirked. **“You will be perfect.”**

He lifted his hand over the dirt, which began to tremble. The soil slowly parted as the corpse of the exalt rose from the ground, a nightmare made horribly real. Once it broke the surface, it stood swaying in the breeze, held up by Grima’s magic. It was clothed in the torn, worm-eaten garb it died in, and its hair had faded to a dull blue and was falling out. Bones were poking through the thin gray skin.

 **“By my power, you shall live again!”** Grima declared, extending his arm. His hand gleamed with purple light, which snaked around and up the corpse, suffusing it with a sickly glow. For a moment after the light receded, there appeared to be no change.

And then Chrom opened his eyes, revealing milky irises and pupils stuck in the middle of black sclera. His hair, while still dull and faded, had grown back, and his skin, while still pale and lifeless, was repaired. Dully, he turned to face Grima, mouth slightly agape. A long, guttural moan escaped him.

 **“Speak! Your lord and master commands you!”** Grima snapped.

Chrom’s pupils slowly moved about, absorbing his surroundings. He looked completely lost, though when he focused on Grima, the faintest hint of recognition glinted in his eyes. Finally, he opened his mouth again.  “Whoooo… are… you?”   

Grima glowered. **“I am the Fell Dragon, Grima. And I am your new lord. Do you understand me?”**

Chrom nodded slowly.  “Yesss…” 

Grima allowed a smile to flicker across his face. He held his hands out. They glowed with purple light, and a metal circlet crowned with long iron spikes solidified from nothing. He placed the crown on Chrom’s head with faintly mocking reverence. **“I crown you King of the Risen. You shall lead my revenant armies and cover the land with the dead. Come with me. We must raise your army.”** With that, Grima turned on his heel and strode away. Chrom awkwardly lurched forward after him, confused and unsteady.

\--

The Ylisstol commoners cemetery was as good a place to start as any.

Well, not quite, as Grima found when he tried to raise more bodies from their graves. He growled and sat down on a tombstone. **“A fine mess this is. It appears I haven’t the strength to raise anyone else at the moment.”** He turned to Chrom, who was gazing vacantly into the distance. **“Hmph.”**

Chrom didn’t seem to hear him.

Grima rolled his eyes. **“I suppose I should take a rest. These storms draw the power of the land --** **_Naga’s_ ** **power -- into me with every lightning strike. Perhaps in the morning my army will be ready to rise. Guard me in my sleep, King.”** Abruptly, he lay down to rest. Chrom picked up an abandoned sword from the ground and assumed a defensive stance. He did not blink once.

\--

While Grima had been busy brewing storms and raising the dead, Robin had awoken to find himself in a dark void.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked around at the vast nothingness. He could feel sensation in his limbs, as if he were moving without actually moving. Then he realized what was going on.

“So, I’m a prisoner of my own mind, huh? Clever, clever,” he said to no one. He tried to stand, but he couldn’t. For some reason, he lacked the strength.

“Maybe, while Grima is awake, I’m trapped… Yes, I bet that’s the case. Of course, I’ll have to wait to see if that’s true… Heh. It’s funny. I used to wish for more time in the day to think. Well now I’ve sure got it.” He laughed a little and lay down to wait for Grima to sleep. Surely he would eventually. Even god-infused bodies need a little rest now and then. After all, Robin — well, Robin’s _body_ — was only human.

\--

Robin opened his eyes again to see, in the void, another body lying down. Grima? Surely it had to be. He sat up. “Hey! HEY! CAN YOU HEAR ME?” he yelled.

Grima sat up slowly. He could hear a faint yelling in the distance. What could it be?

Oh. Right.

Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet and stormed towards the still-yelling Robin, who grinned on seeing his approach. “Hey there! Enjoying the music?”

 **“By music, do you mean your infernal racket? No, I cannot say I do.”** Grima hissed. **“What do you want, fool?”**

“Answers,” Robin smirked. “Let me guess. When you hijacked me, you killed my body, but you couldn’t kill my soul. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to keep a hold on this body. After all, you are me. Right? So you locked my soul — the me you’re seeing right now — away. I’ve been imprisoned in my own body. Gotta say, I’m not too keen on that. Would you mind just… leaving my body?”

 **“You bother me with your stupid questions. No, I will not ‘just… leave your body.’ Yours is the only vessel suitable for my earthly reign. I do not regret to say that I will be in here for a very,** **_very_ ** **long time to come. You had best accept it now,”** Grima said.

“Yeah. I could. _Orrrrrrrrr_ I could annoy you every time you go to sleep until you give me my body back. How does that sound?” A manic grin broke Robin’s face.

Grima snarled and vanished. Robin chuckled. “All the time in the world to plan… but this isn’t such a bad plan to start.”

\--

Grima woke with a start. He hadn’t planned to take such a short rest, but…

 **“Damn that fool!”** he roared. Chrom started and dropped the sword. He turned to face Grima, his mouth slightly open in confusion.

 **“Pick that up, you dolt! A king must always have a weapon at his side. Now follow me,”** Grima snapped. He flung himself to his feet and headed for the center of the cemetery. Chrom lagged behind.

Grima stopped and knelt down. Even from his short rest, a rest that couldn’t have lasted more than a couple hours, he felt stronger; power ran through his blood like a hurricane. He placed his hands on the ground, and purple light spread from his hands like roots. Where the light connected with graves, the dirt shimmered. A hundred -- no, two hundred; no, _five_ hundred -- bodies punched through their earthen covers and pulled themselves to their rotten feet. Satisfied, Grima turned to Chrom. **“Well? They are yours to command.”**

Chrom hesitated for a moment before raising his sword and letting out a grating, wordless cry. The Risen turned to face their king. Chrom growled and pointed his sword forward. Somehow, the Risen seemed to understand him just fine. They set out, a rolling tide of death and destruction.

Grima smiled and placed a clawed hand on Chrom’s shoulder. **“Excellent. You deserve a reward.”** With that, he held out his hands, and purple fire surrounded Chrom. When the magical flames faded, his repulsive and holey clothes had been replaced with a set of elaborite white and gold armor that practically shone. **“Fit for a king,”** Grima chuckled. He turned to face the Risen surging forth over the land and allowed a large, toothy smile to break his face. **“This country… this continent… this world… soon, it shall all be mine.”**

\--

A month had passed. First, Ylisstol had fallen. Next came Regna Ferox. Now, the Risen were encroaching on Mount Prism. The tide of extinction flowed slowly but surely.

Grima had long taken Ylisstol Castle as his home. He sat on his throne, once the seat of the exalt’s power. Chrom stood stoically behind him, hands folded over the hilt of his blade, the legendary Falchion.

The former inhabitants of this castle—all the servants, all the soldiers—had long been massacred and assimilated into the Risen army. Lucina and Lissa had fled before then; their whereabouts were unknown to Grima, but he had a gut feeling that they were still alive somewhere. Valm seemed a likely place.    

As for Falchion… originally, after Chrom’s death, the Shepherds had retrieved it from Grima’s sleeping form and brought it back to hang over Chrom’s royal portrait in the eastern wing. But one night, after suffering a terrible nightmare—a memory, really, of coming face to face with the Fell Dragon—Lucina had snuck into the portrait gallery, taken her father’s sword from its place on the wall, and spirited it away to the former dungeons beneath the castle, hiding it under empty sacks in a cell and locking the door. Just in case.

It hadn’t been enough, though, to keep the revenant Chrom from finding it. The night after Grima stormed the castle, he had awoken from another ‘chat’ with that obnoxious Robin to find Chrom missing. He found him in the dungeons, holding Falchion and looking almost… pleased with himself. There seemed to be a spark of life in his empty eyes. Secretly, Grima worried about what that meant. Could it be that Chrom was remembering who he had once been? He didn’t want to consider the possibility.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but be satisfied when he sat on that throne and thought about what destruction he had wreaked and what more was to come.

\--

Grima dreaded sleep. Curse this frail human body in all its limitations! He hated having to talk to that dastard that shared his mind. He tried to stay awake as long as he could, but…

“Look who’s back!” Robin crowed. He leapt up and hurried over to Grima. “How’ve you been, buddy?”

Grima didn’t bother standing up. He glowered at Robin. **“Shut it.”**

“Oooh! Not so high-and-mighty sounding, eh? Am I rubbing off on you?” Robin giggled. Then a devious grin spread over his face. “Permit me to ask a question.”

**“Fine.”**

“What’s the point?”

Grima started slightly. **“I beg your pardon?”**

“You heard me. What’s the point? Why all this death and destruction? Why don’t you wanna rule over, I don’t know, the _living_? Do you really want nothing but a kingdom of zombies and dead grass? That doesn’t sound enjoyable. But what would I know? After all, it’s not like I’m you or anything.” Robin had turned to the side while talking, but now he looked down at Grima. A smirk flickered over his face. “Well?”

Grima was steaming mad, but he didn’t want to let it show. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet. He clenched his fists behind his back. **“My plans and desires are none of your concern.”**

“Aren’t they, though? I’m stuck in here. Can’t I have something to occupy _allllllllll_ this time to think? What could I possibly do, anyway?” Robin was pacing back and forth now.

Grima grabbed Robin by the collar and lifted him up. **“You could shut the hell up, or I’ll kill you!”**

Robin smiled. “Or I could do the same.” With that, he kicked Grima in the chest, freeing himself. A Levin Sword, crackling with lightning, appeared in his hand. He swung it and released a bolt that grazed Grima’s side. Grima roared, more in shock than pain. **“Insolent dastard! How could you do this? You have no power here!”**

Robin lazily swung the blade from side to side, sending sparks flying. “But don’t I? It’s still my mind, whether you like it or not. While you’ve been gaining strength, I have too. I’ve been able to access my memories. And I’ve got a lot of memories to kill you with.”

Grima howled and flung himself at Robin, his claws burning with black fire. Robin dodged and slashed him in the back with the sword. Grima gasped and stumbled. Oil-like blood gushed from the wound.   **“YOU MISERABLE WORM! If you kill me, you’ll kill yourself! Have you forgotten?”**

The smile vanished from Robin’s face and was replaced by a hard stare. “Have you considered maybe, just maybe, that’s what I want?”

\--

Grima jolted awake, breathing heavily.

He didn’t feel quite... all put together. He had a raging headache. It felt like the two halves of his mind were at war with each other.

Oh, that’s right. They were.

Grima stumbled out of bed and down the hall in search of Chrom. He found the Risen King in the portrait wing, staring up at his own likeness. As he opened his mouth to speak, he felt his control on his body slip.

“Chrom! You have to help m **SILENCE, FOOL. Do not listen to** CHROM! YOU HAVE TO KILL ME, YOU HAVE TO **BE** **_QUIET_ ** **!”**

As two voices—Grima and Robin—vied for control, Chrom watched in confusion. Recognition flickered in his eyes. “ Robiiiiiin?” 

“YES! CHROM! CAN YOU HEAR ME? YOU HAVE TO **DO NOT! DO NOT LISTEN TO HIM!”** Grima was hunched over, holding his head in his hands. Tears ran down his face, tinted red by the bloody, permanently open scars.

Chrom slowly brought a hand to his sword and drew it.

A deafening shriek tore itself free from Grima’s throat. He fell to his knees and gasped for breath. “C-Chrom… you have to… I’ve got control for just a few seconds… you have to kill me! Kill me! End his reign! You must!”

Chrom raised the sword slightly.  “Robiiiin? You…?” 

“Please! If you… if you ever loved me, you’ll do this.” As he choked out the last few words, he suddenly shot to his feet. **“Finally! I have taken this accursed body back, and NOW I WILL—”**

The Falchion protruded from Grima’s stomach.

Grima coughed. Black blood spewed from his mouth and dripped from his stomach. **“You—You traitor—I—”**

He collapsed, falling further onto the sword as he did. The Falchion was coated with foul oil. The light faded from his eyes, and his last breath left him. With that, the magic that had animated Chrom dissipated. He dropped the blade and collapsed. “Thank you... Robin…” he whispered. And he, too, was gone.

The reign of Grima and his army of darkness had ended in one fell stab.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
